


When the Day Met the Night

by VideroJames



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VideroJames/pseuds/VideroJames
Summary: “Why are you trying so hard to convince me to ditch the Gunners? You don’t know me. Just because I’m not like most of them doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous -that I’m a good person.”She smiled, and although at first glance it seemed playful, he could see the sadness in her green eyes.“Because I’m down a travel buddy. If I’m going to make it back to HQ then I’m going to need someone to help me.”“I might not… want to be a Gunner but that doesn’t change that I am. People in the Commonwealth, they know me, know what I am.” MacCeady gestured to the tattoo on the right side of his forehead, the ‘O-’ that branded him as a member of the goddamn paramilitary he despised. “They know what this means.”******Gunner MacCready AU.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This work is going to be extremely self indulgent.

“Someone's in the building,” Derry said, voice hushed, eyes on the security monitors.

“Good. Maybe they'll kill us,” muttered the lanky, brunette man who leaned on the console, inspecting the polished barrel of his sniper rifle. This man’s name was MacCready.

Derry glared out of the corner of his eye, standing, hoping his comrade might feel his ire and meet his stare. He did not. Instead, MacCready scrubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw, eyes drifting to the ceiling. He knew Derry was annoyed, he knew he wanted him to react to his anger, but he didn't quite feel like it.

“MacCready,” Derry said, grabbing his shoulder.

A jolt of irritation went through MacCready and he now let his infuriated gaze settle on Derry. He shrugged out from under his grasp.

“What?” he spat.

Derry’s nostrils flared.

“It would be smart to keep quiet about your disdain for your fellow Gunners.”

“I know-”

“You've been with us for six years now-”

“I know that too-”

“Then why are you still running your mouth!?” Derry said, hands balling into fists. He'd always been easy to rile up, something Maccready usually took joy in doing. But right now he was just as exasperated as him, unfortunately, which ruined it a little bit.

“Because, Chester, I don't _care_.”

Derry’s eyes widened as his anger escalated to pure rage at the sound of his first name. MacCready honestly didn't see his surname “Derry” as that much of a step up but he'd been pretty severely punished for calling his partner Chester in the past, so he'd given up on using the embarrassing first name. Well, for the most part.

“I told you not to call me-”

As he'd begun speaking, MacCready’s eyes had flickered to one of the security monitors and he was immediately greeted by the sight of dead Gunners. He frowned, leaning in, fingers tightening around the handle of his gun.

“What the hell?” he said under his breath.

“What?” Derry asked.

He must have seen the same thing as MacCready because he got real quiet, staring with wide eyes and a slowly falling jaw. At the same time they spotted the perpetrator, a tall man in a long, black coat, his dark hair slicked back off his face.

“Courser,” they both said, one fearfully and one with a grim acceptance.

“Guess they probably are gonna kill us.”

“What's it doing here?”

“It's come to get the synth,” MacCready said.

“How do you know?” Derry asked, panic clear in his voice.

“Because why else would it be here, idiot?” MacCready pulled away from the console, heading towards the door. “We better get to her first, looks like he’ll be up here soon.”

Derry spoke, bringing him to a halt in the doorway.

“You know, MacCready, if we manage to get out of this mess, I might just shoot you myself. Say you got caught in the crossfire. Put an end to your insubordination.”

“Maybe I'll save you the trouble. Blow my brains out now. Leave you to fend for yourself against our guest.”

MacCready’s threat was met with silence. Derry pulled his laser out of its halster, his expression chagrined. He knew he wasn't the better shot between the two of them. MacCready proceeded through the door, Derry hurrying up to walk beside him.

“Get your laser pistol out, there’s no room to snipe in here,” Derry said.

Before MacCready had time to explain himself, the sound of gunfire reached their ears, followed by the frightened cries of other Gunners. They exchanged a glance, rushing to the end of the hall. The sounds got louder and now he could make out an unfamiliar, smooth, monotone voice. Must have been the Courser. Men began to scramble up the stairs, tripping over each other, some still carrying their lasers.

He was herding them up here.

MacCready spun on his heel, rushing ahead of the pack, ignoring Derry as he was caught up in the wake of the Gunners coming up the stairs. He headed to his left, through the doorway that lead to the main room of the top floor, the synth they’d captured locked away in an adjacent room.

His blue eyes drifted to the gaping hole in the ceiling. That was where he needed to be. He proceeded up the stairs, exiting the room entirely and coming out onto the lower level of the roof. To his right were two crates and to his left was a skeleton, an ammo box beside it. There was no time to check it, there was a chance the Courser had come up the stairs and entered the room, potentially seeing MacCready slip onto the roof.

Stacking the two crates that sat on the roof, MacCready used them to scramble onto the upper part of the roof, lying flat on his stomach beside the hole in the ceiling. He peeked down, the delayed fear of the Courser attack crawling over him now. In the room below was five Gunners -including Derry- and the Courser, who was forcing them all to kneel in front of the railing that encircled the elevator shaft.

He’d really wiped out the entire building. They’d been a squad of thirty and now only six of them were left.

“This is going to be a simple process,” the Courser murmured once all the men were relieved of their weapons and kneeling. “I’m going to ask you one by one what the password is for that terminal… and you’re going to tell me. If you do not comply I will eliminate you.”

Well, shit. Boss hadn’t told any of them the password. Plus, even if he had, they were all too damn loyal to disobey one of the higher ups. They’d die right here and now before telling the Courser anything useful.

MacCready might not have liked the Gunners, but he didn’t want to watch all the men in his squad get executed. Unlike them, he wasn’t a cold blooded bastard. He got into kneeling position, confident that the Courser was unaware of his presence, and rested his weight on the knee he had raised, peering down the scope of his rifle.

As he lined his sights up with the Coursers head, he pondered his best course of action. If he just took the shot now there was no guarantee that he’d kill the thing. Judging by the three bullet holes in it’s torso, it could take quite the beating. If he was too hasty he would just end up getting himself killed.

As the first gunner, Kelso, sobbed that he didn’t know the password for the third time, the Courser lined up it’s gun with the back of his head, firing. MacCready didn’t react externally as the front of the man’s skull exploded outwards, sending his brain raining down the elevator shaft. He was accustomed to seeing death, whether it be slow or abrupt. Still, he kind of liked Kelso. More than Derry, at least.

Of course, they were all Gunners. All pretending they had some kind of authority, some level of importance in this world, like they weren’t just more organized and better equipped raiders without drug addictions.

He’d been so lost in thought that he almost didn’t catch her -the red head crouched in the doorway. He lowered his gun for a split second, surprised, and then slammed his eye back to his scope. She was frowning deeply, the expression emphasizing a long, fresh scar that went through her eyebrow and reached about an inch below her eye. Clutched in her small hands was a silenced pistol. Was that all she had? Who was she? What was she doing here?

God, she was beautiful.

MacCready could count on one hand how many times he’d been stunned by a woman’s appearance. First, of course, was Lucy, his wife he’d lost three years prior to now. The next was Magnolia, the woman who sang at the Third Rail. The two others were women he’d never learned the names of and he’d never seen them again. The fifth was the woman below him who was undoubtedly about to meet her end.

He was in the middle of accepting the fact and planning to use her as a distraction to maybe do some good damage to the Courser, when her eyes snapped upwards, landing right on him. He froze, jaw dropping, lowering his gun again. She was a little harder to make out without the scope, but he frowned, holding eye contact with her.

She nudged her head in the direction of the Courser only to jump out of her skin as he shot the fourth Gunner in the line. Patrick. He’d always been insufferable. MacCready hadn’t even noticed him execute the other three he’d been so wrapped up in the stranger in the doorway. Derry was the only one left now.

The woman visibly shook off her shock, her determined stare returning to MacCready. He nodded at her. She nodded back. He wasn’t sure why he bothered forming this silent alliance with someone who was going to die any minute now.

That was when a head came from over her shoulder, a man with blonde hair whispering something to her. She had backup? Maybe she wasn’t going to die. If it were three to one even a Courser might struggle to keep up with them.

He didn’t have anymore time to ponder this because the man threw himself into the room, pistol raised, firing four consecutive shots into the back of Courser. It tensed, it’s perfect facade cracking for a mere second as it’s face contorted in anger more than pain. The woman quickly darted out of the doorway, heading in the opposite direction of her companion so that the Courser had it’s back to her. It took aim at the man, who performed a pretty smooth roll to dodge the oncoming bullets.

The woman took advantage of the distraction, sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth a little as she took aim, shooting at the Courser a moment later. A bullet clipped the side of his neck, deep enough that if he were human it would probably be a fatal wound. She didn’t move or lower her gun, just refocused her aim and fired again. This bullet blew off the Coursers right ear. It whirled around now, realizing the danger behind him, ignoring the blonde who shot him twice in the back.

MacCready gave a start as he remembered that he was supposed to be participating in the disposal of this Courser, raising his scope to his eye once more. It was then that he noticed Derry slinking out of the room, his metaphorical tail between his legs. MacCready’s instinct was to shoot the coward himself, purely to be petty, but upon seeing the woman backup and trip on top of the pile of rubble under the staircase that lead to the door to the roof, he changed his mind.

Usually in situations like this, if his survival didn’t depend on her helping him take out the Courser, he might not have backed her up. He might have let nature run its course. Because she was obviously unpracticed with her gun that she held almost gingerly, and judging by her pale, mostly unmarred skin, she didn’t appear to have a lot of experience in a fight. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that she was wearing what most would refer to as a ‘scavver’ outfit, he would have taken her for a vaultie.

But because she was helping him save his own skin and because she was beautiful and made him curious, he took aim, firing directly into the forehead of the Courser. At least he would have if the blonde hadn’t leapt onto the Courser’s back, sending him stumbling a foot forward and out of his shot. Instead, the bullet grazed the blonde man’s shoulder.

“Idiot,” MacCready muttered, tightening his grip on his gun.

The red head got to her feet, pointing her gun at the Courser as it backed up, slamming into the metal railing full force. The blonde man cried out in pain, reflexively releasing the Courser, sending himself tumbling over the railing. He fell head first, the last thing MacCready saw of him before he disappeared was his feet slamming into the cage of the elevator shaft. It was a two story drop from there and the way he was falling… he was undoubtedly going to break his neck. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the Courser had already broken his back on the railing.

“Fixer!” the woman cried, lowering her gun a fraction.

MacCready couldn’t see her face anymore from the angle, but he knew her focus wasn’t where it should be. Taking advantage of her horror, the Courser ran forward almost inhumanly fast, wrapping a hand around her neck. Effortlessly it raised her into the air, a mask of fury on it’s face. It stepped onto a crate of ammo that had been lying in the room, dangling her over the railing.

 _“Oh sh_ \- uh oh.”

MacCready lined up a headshot, only to freeze. If he shot him now he’d drop the woman and even if she landed on her feet, she’d probably break a leg, possibly both, maybe fall wrong and die on impact like her partner. There was very slim chance she’d come out of this without serious injury.

“No harm in being thorough,” the Courser said, using his free hand to smooth back his now unkempt hair. “Do _you_ know the password?”

“Did you... try ‘Go fuck yourself’?” she spat.

“How creative. You sound like a raider, but I heard your companions name. Fixer, wasn’t it? That’s a Railroad codename. So let me ask you, agent, are you here to free me?”

Railroad agent, huh? MacCready had never had too much respect for them but he was fairly certain they didn’t just recruit any rookie off the street. She must be special in some way if they’d hired her despite her lack of proficiency in a fight.

“Free… is sort of a loose… term, don’t you think?” There was a pause and then she yelled, _“Take the fucking shot!”_

Like an obedient dog MacCready pulled the trigger, sending a bullet whizzing through the air and directly into the Courser’s forehead. It burst through the front of it’s skull but not out the back like it would on a regular human. The thing stumbled, blood trickling down it’s face, but corrected itself to keep the woman over the railing. It made a horrible, garbled growl, blood leaking out between it’s clenched teeth.

Before MacCready could line up a second shot, the woman pressed the barrel of her gun to the Courser’s throat, shooting three times. The click of her empty gun might have been horrifying if the Courser wasn’t clearly finished now. It released it’s hold on her, crumpling in itself. She shrieked, falling, and then there was a loud, metallic _thunk_ as she caught herself on the railing, hooking one arm around it. She squeaked out a strained, “Help!”

“Damn it!” MacCready said, swinging his sniper rifle onto his back, running across the roof and jumping down, his knees protesting due to the height.

He bolted inside, almost slipping on all the Gunner blood coating the floor, latching onto her arm just as it started to slip. Thankfully, she was light and he managed to get her high enough that he could wrap an arm around her waist. He backed up, dragging her over the railing, bringing her body swinging into his, almost making them topple over. He kept them steady and it was then, as he stood there inadvertently holding her tightly against him that he really took in her appearance.

Pretty bowed lips, a button nose, long, dark lashes and… the greenest eyes he’d seen since Lucy’s. He froze, mouth agape.

“Um, thank you,” she said, removing herself from his grasp.

He held his hands up, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he seriously blushing right now? She looked down at the Courser, disgusted. “There. You’re free.”

He clenched his jaw, recovering from his brief return to being a nervous teenager, putting a hand on the handle of his laser pistol. She was here for the synth. The synth they’d kidnapped. He might have hated the Gunners but he still was one of them. It would be his head if he let her go. “Well, that’s abruptly less friendly.”

She bent, retrieving her gun from where it had fallen after the Courser had let go of her. He probably shouldn’t have let her do so but he didn’t want to be too hostile. Unless she proved dangerous.

“You can’t take the synth,” MacCready said.

She straightened, raising an eyebrow in a way that made his heart stutter.

“I can’t?”

“Obviously not, lady, she’s our prisoner.”

She smirked now, gesturing with her gun to the room full of corpses.

“You and all you Gunner friends?” she asked.

Oh, she was annoying. Beautiful, alluring, but definitely annoying.

“There’s a reason I’m the one who’s still alive. We might have formed a little alliance for a minute there, but if you go for that synth, I won’t hesitate to blow your pretty little head off.”

Both her eyebrows shot up this time and her big green eyes widened. For a second he thought he might have succeeded in scaring her off when suddenly the butt of her gun collided with his cheek. He fell to the side, catching himself on the railing as his vision faltered. Beyond the pain that was radiating through his skull he could hear clumsy, rushed footsteps. He whirled around, stomach twinging as he fought off passing the fuck out, and spotted her making her way over to the terminal keeping the synth locked away.

He staggered, vision almost washing away, and held his head in his hands. After a second or two he recovered, glaring at where she stood, setting into a sprint. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him reach her but she didn’t react fast enough to stop him from lifting her off the ground.

She kicked at the air in front of her, pushing at his hands, her ponytail smothering him a little.

“You’re going to save me and then immediately what?! Throw me over the railing yourself?!”

“I don't know yet, alright!?”

She tucked her head and then reeled it back, slamming into his forehead and the upper part of the bridge of his nose. He grunted but tightened his hold around her waist instead of letting her go. Maybe he was better in a fight than he’d initially thought.

“Your buddies are dead! Just let it go! Say I knocked you out, you son of a bitch!”

“Look, I don't care about the synth, but they'll kill me if they find out I let you take her!” he said.

He spun, throwing her as he did. She not so gracefully landed on her feet, staggering, managing to end up facing him. As she did, she raised her gun and he followed suit.

“I’m not leaving without her,” she said. “And if you’re too goddamn loyal to let me then I guess I’ll have to kill you.”

There was conviction in her words, he knew that she was willing to put her life on the line to save this synth -that had been clear the moment she’d poked her head into the room, set on fighting a Courser- but he noted a strain to her voice.

Upon further scrutiny he saw that her hands were shaking a little. Had this women lived in the city her whole life? Maybe she really had been raised in a vault.

“It’s not that I’m loyal, okay? It’s that I’m smart. My survival depends on this thing staying right where it is,” he said.

She quirked a brow, stretching her scar.

“You’re a Gunner, I thought your whole bit was loyalty and discipline? Aren’t you guys playing soldier?”

He hesitated. His instinct was to shut her down, say it was none of her business. He was never one to overshare, it only made you easier to manipulate, to control. The Gunners hadn’t even known Lucy existed until after she’d died and they still had no idea about Duncan.

“It’s complicated.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Look, I might be a Gunner, but I’m not loyal to them. They could all drop dead for all I care.”

She let her hand drop to her side, her shoulders sagging.

“Then why do you care if I take her or not?” she said, throwing her gun up in the direction of the room the synth was locked away in.

“Because it’ll be my head!” he cried.

“Everyone in the building is dead, there are no witnesses! Fake your death! Run away! If you don’t care about the Gunners then don’t be one!”

His hand holding his gun dropped an inch as he took in her words. He hadn’t thought of that. Once Winlock and Barnes realized they’d lost all communications with this building they’d come to check it out and once they realized it’d been a massacre they wouldn’t bother to check all the bodies. They’d check for the source, find the Courser, and realize what had happened.

Unless Derry had already made it out of the building.

“I can’t… my partner, Derry, he’s long gone.”

“Did he see you beat the Courser?”

“I mean, no-”

“Then he’ll just assume you died too. And if your Gunner bosses come to find out what happened they’ll think you died and that Fixer and I-” she cut off for a moment, eyes drifting downwards. She swallowed, continuing, “That we killed the Courser.”

He was silent, his expression becoming mostly neutral, squinting contemplatively.

“Why are you trying so hard to convince me to ditch the Gunners? You don’t know me. Just because I’m not like most of them doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous -that I’m a good person.”

She smiled, and although at first glance it seemed playful, he could see the sadness in her green eyes.

“Because I’m down a travel buddy. If I’m going to make it back to HQ then I’m going to need someone to help me.”

“I might not… want to be a Gunner but that doesn’t change that I am. People in the Commonwealth, they know me, know what I am.” He gestured to the tattoo on the right side of his forehead, the ‘O-’ that branded him as a member of the goddamn paramilitary he despised. “They know what this means.”

She rolled her eyes, something he hadn’t expected, and crossed the room. She stopped a few feet away from him, halstering her gun.

“I’m gonna get kind of close, is that okay?” she asked.

He frowned, swallowing.

“Uh, I guess.”

She closed the gap between them, raising her hands cautiously as if maybe he were a wild animal who might lash out at any second. She pulled off his hat, dropping it to the ground, and he stiffened as she started running her hands through his hair. He pulled back a fraction, saying, “What are you-”

“I’m hiding your tattoo, dummy,” she said, smile a little, getting up on her tiptoes to rake her fingers through his hair.

He usually styled it so that it was swept back and parted to the left, not that it mattered much since he wore a hat. It was long enough that as she brushed it out and down, it hung over his right eyebrow. He pretended her proximity didn’t make his heart pound at an embarrassing rate. He didn’t even know the woman, she shouldn’t have had such an affect on him. She had begun biting her bottom lip at some point while she’d played with his hair and it was not making things easier on him.

She lowered her hands, examining his hair for another moment.

“Look at that. You’re a free man.”

“People will recognize my face-”

“We’ll cover it up! Come on, do you want to be stuck with these guys forever? This is your chance. Help me and I’ll do what I can to protect you,” she pleaded.

He snickered. Jesus, how long had it been since he’d laughed? And not at Derry?

“Oh, yeah? And what can you do for me?”

She smirked. “You’d be surprised.”

He just looked at her, skeptical. “Look,” she began, becoming serious again, “I won’t make it far without someone else looking out for me. This will all be pointless if I go out there and just get picked off by a raider.”

He was a little take aback by her candor. Usually when people admitted to their inadequacies with a weapon it annoyed him. This time it was sort of endearing… and only slightly irritating.

“I did notice you weren’t very… capable.”

She scowled and then sighed.

“Exactly. I can get by but not against larger numbers. That’s why I need you.” She extended her small hand. “Do we have a deal?”

A deal? Was he really going to do this? Fake his death, hide his identity for the foreseeable future? He’d rejoined the Gunners for a reason upon returning to the Commonwealth from the Capital Wasteland. He’d needed money, he’d needed a job -he’d needed them not to kill him for desertion. He was a capable enough soldier that they’d offered him a second chance. If they were to find out he was alive and that he’d used the Courser attack to leave the Gunners again? They’d kill him for sure. And Duncan would…

But there was no guarantee they’d ever let him leave, ever let him get the cure to Duncan, ever let him see him again. Yeah, maybe he could hire someone to get the cure and take it to Daisy but he’d always know he had a son he’d abandoned. Of course, maybe the kid was better off without him. He hadn’t seen him since he was two, he probably didn’t even remember who he was.

But if he joined this woman, did manage to hide who he was and keep the fact that he was alive hidden from the world… he wouldn’t be trapped. He wouldn’t be forced to be something he hated, something he was so ashamed of that he never even told Lucy. And he could see Duncan again, maybe move to the Capital Wasteland with him once he’d gathered enough money.

“I’ll do it for three hundred caps,” he said.

Surprise crossed the woman’s face and then she smiled, putting her free hand on her hip. Her mesmerizing hip that belled out in a way you didn’t often see in the Wasteland. Yeah, she was pretty skinny but she didn’t appear to have been starving most her life.

“How about two hundred?” she countered.

Had her eyes not been so green and her hair not looked so goddamn silky and her body not so pleasing to the eye he would have tried to barter with her.

“Deal.”

He reached out to shake her hand and then pulled back, making her eyebrows shoot up. He eyed her, banishing all his previous amicability.

“How do I know I won’t end up with a bullet in my back?”

“Because I’m not like them,” she said, nudging her head back in the direction of the dead Gunner bodies that scattered the floor. “And I really don’t wanna hurt you.”

Generally distrustful, MacCready was surprised when he believed her. It was amazing what a pretty face could do. And a sincerity that was impossible to ignore. He took her hand and almost reacted outwardly to the softness of her skin. Definitely a vaultie.

“I guess I should know your name if we’re going to be working together, shouldn’t I?” she said.

“MacCready,” he said, tucking his pistol into it’s halster. He bent to pick up his hat and she stopped him.

“It’s a pretty… distinct hat.”

He shrugged, peering at where it lay on the ground. At least he knew where it was if he ever wanted it back.

“And your name?” he asked.

Her smirk returned.

“Charmer.”

_Of course it fucking was._


	2. Two

“Thank you so much!”

MacCready rolled his eyes as the synth sobbed into Charmer’s neck. Charmer didn’t seem to mind, returning the woman’s embrace, stroking her hair in a comforting sort of way. It was strange to say the least, people in the Wasteland weren’t the types to hand out physical affection, especially not to a synth.

“I’m going to take you to a safe place, alright?”

“They killed the other agents who were trying to help me! I was so scared, I thought I was never going to be free!” Wailed the synth.

Charmer pried her off of her very delicately, putting a hand on her cheek. Again, so affectionate. This woman must have come from the sissiest vault on the planet. Not that he really had an idea what the average vault was like.

“I know, I’m so sorry. We won’t let something like this happen to you again, alright?” Charmer said. “What’s your name?”

“K1-98-”

“No, your _name_.”

The synth sniffed, surprised, more tears welling in her eyes.

“Jenny. My name’s Jenny.”

Charmer smiled and it was so sweet and so sincere that for a moment MacCready was literally dazzled by it. He stiffened, coming to his senses.

“We need to get out of here. Gunners could already know that something’s up,” he said.

Charmer glanced at him, looking a little annoyed and then sighed.

“Good point.”

She released Jenny -er the synth- and approached the body of the Courser. MacCready frowned, exchanging an uncertain glance with the synth. He watched as Charmer pulled out a long, wickedly sharp knife from her belt. She made a reluctant sound, sucking in a deep breath and slicing into the back of the Coursers neck.

“What the f- What are you doing?”

“The other half of my mission,” she muttered, evidently grossed out.

She dug her hand into the hole she’d created where the head met the neck, pulling something out that was too covered in blood to identify. She made a retching nose, covering her mouth, and closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly through her nose before lowering her hand and wiping whatever she’d retrieved clean on the outside of her leather jacket.

“What is it?” MacCready asked.

“Courser chip. Now let’s get going.”

“One sec,” he said, an idea popping into his head. He picked up his hat and she opened her mouth to argue only for him to wave her off. He smeared the hat across the bloody wound Charmer had made and then tossed it towards the bodies of the Gunners that had been executed.

“Good thinking.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he passed her, heading out the doorway and down the hall. A moment later he heard two sets of hurried footsteps and she appeared beside him. He peered briefly over his shoulder to see the synth following them, still distressed. He kind of felt bad for her. She was behaving pretty human.

When they’d gone two floors down, Charmer muttered something, veering to the right. He followed her with his eyes, spotting the man she’d brought here. She’d called him Fixer. As expected, he was lying in an unnatural position on his side, his back to us. She knelt beside him, her head hanging.

A couple more seconds passed and then she stood, rejoining MacCready and the synth. He continued, remaining silent. The synth sniffled.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Charmer waved a hand dismissively.

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Although she didn’t finish the sentence, he recognized the tone, the delivery. _It's mine._ That’s what she wanted to say. He knew a lot about letting someone die. Failing to protect them.

It was evening when they reached the outer limits of Goodneighbor. The sun was streaking through the sky, creating a vibrant collage of blues, oranges and pinks. MacCready came to halt when the makeshift wall of the town was in view, a knot forming in his stomach that he’d never admit to experiencing.

“What’s up?” Charmer asked.

“I used to hang out here. They’ll recognize me immediately, even without the tattoo. And I know Hancock and Fahrenheit don’t like Gunners. Not that anyone does. Point is, I can’t go in without something to cover my face.

Charmer thought for a moment, lips pinched together, eyes narrowed. Then her eyes lit up and she beamed up at him, tugging off her scarf. It was long, holey, and stained with blood. He wrinkled his nose at it as she closed the gap between them for the second time in one day.

“Look, it’s either you wear the dirty, Courser blood covered scarf or you get recognized and shot on sight, alright?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning.

“Fine.”

He took the scarf, winding it around his neck three times in a way that it covered from the middle of his nose downwards. He was skeptical of this working but it was their best option. Charmer gave him her seal of approval and they continued towards the city.

“We’ll have to get you a coat with a hood in Diamond City. That way with the scarf, the new hair, and the hood you’ll have a nice little disguise. Oh, yeah!” She delved into the pocket of her leather jacket, developing a pair of wire frame glasses. “For hiding my identity.”

He scoffed. He couldn’t help but be reminded of all the comics he used to read as a teenager.

“What are we doing here anyway?” he asked, eyeing the guards as they entered through the door to the town. “Pretty sure the Railroad HQ isn’t hidden in Goodneighbor.”

“It isn’t, but we’re going to stay here the night so I thought I’d rent a room and drop you off.”

He quirked a brow despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at him.

“Drop me off?”

“Yeah, I can’t just bring you to HQ. You’re not an agent. Also, while we’re here, call me Flynn.”

“S’that your name?” he asked.

“It’s my last name, yeah,” she said.

“And what’s your first name?”

She glanced up at him, half smiling.

“Sorry, that’s privileged information.”

He scoffed, falling silent. If she didn’t want to get too personal that was fine with him. She was just a way for him to start earning caps so he could eventually get Duncan’s cure and move back to the Capital Wasteland. She might have been a pretty face but that wasn’t enough to make him lower his carefully constructed walls.

They wound their way through the small town, arriving at the Hotel Rexford. The clerk at the counter was the same woman from three years ago, looking as haggard as ever. He thought he remembered her name being… Alice? Or was it Claire?

Charmer paid for two rooms, handing one of the keys to MacCready.

“Get some rest, okay? I’ve gotta go see the schmail schmode,” she said, lowering her voice and speaking out of the side of her mouth at the end of her sentence. “We leave bright and early in the morning.”

Without allowing him a word, she escorted the synth out of the hotel. Not wanting to conversate with Alice or Claire, he made his way onto the stairs. Wait, what was he doing? He hadn’t had a drink in _days._

He turned on his heel, rushing down the stairs and out of the Rexford. Entering the Third Rail wasn’t exactly the best plan when he didn’t have more of a disguise than a ridiculous scarf and lack of a signature hat but he knew there was no way he was falling asleep in a reasonable amount of time without some alcohol in his system. He wove through the streets of Goodneighbor, ignoring the people on the streets, the way they always leered at new comers. Little did they know that he’d lived here for months after returning from the Capital Wasteland.

He made it to the Third Rail and Ham didn’t give him any trouble, just told him not to cause any. First things first, he needed to access his old safe in the VIP room. He ducked inside, the dim red light making him nostalgic for a different time. Not really a better time, but a simpler one.

It didn’t take him any time to remember the combination to the locker. Lucy’s birthday. He’d bought this safe before he’d even married her and when the Gunners had come to cart him off for the second time he’d left all of his remaining caps with White Chapel Charlie in the hopes he could cover rent for a while. It had been two years since then and as the metal door swung open relief flooded him. It helped that White Chapel Charlie liked him.

Inside the locker was only a few things, but they were the few things in this world he’d placed sentimental value on. One brown leather duster Lucy had found him, the wooden soldier he’d carved her as a present, the small pouch of caps they’d collected to use once they’d gotten to the Capital Wasteland, and finally, a picture of him, Lucy, and Duncan that Vadim had taken of them. Photos were hard to come by and the fact that he had one of the three of them together was a miracle.

He raised the photo to his lips, closing his eyes and kissing it. His chest was tight, emotions he’d been trying to repress for years now flooding through him. With the outside world shut out he could feel them again. Feel Lucy’s blonde hair tickling his nose as he hugged her, feel Duncan’s arms wrapped loosely around his neck as he napped in his arms.

There wasn’t time for him to fully mourn. If someone came in the room while he had this locker open they’d know it was him instantly and then the news that MacCready was in Goodneighbor would spread like a wildfire. People would either not care or they’d know he’d left to rejoin the Gunners and want to crucify him. If Derry really did believe he was dead then the last thing he needed was for a whole town to know he was alive.

He tucked the picture into an inner pocket of the leather coat, retrieved the pouch of caps, and shut the locker. He'd have to have Charmer help him smuggle the contents of the locker out later. He put the caps and wooden soldier in one of the many pockets on his leg, readjusted Charmer’s scarf and brushed down his hair just in case, exiting the room.

As if no time had passed, White Chapel Charlie floating behind the bar, cleaning a glass. Maccready dropped five caps onto the counter.

“Whiskey,” he said, unsure of how good a Mr. Handy’s memory might be.

“A glass or the whole bottle?”

“I put down five caps, didn't I?”

Probably shouldn't have spoken that much. Every word increased his chances of having his voice recognized. There was silence for a moment and then Charlie retrieved a wide bottle of amber liquid, slamming down on the counter.

“Thanks for your patronage,” he muttered, floating to the right side of the bar.

MacCready swiped it off the counter, tempted to rush out of the bar but not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Part of him wanted to go sit down in the VIP room like he used to but he resisted. The crisp April air encompassed him as he strode back to the Rexford, his hands shoved into his army green jacket. He was excited to ditch the thing, excited not to have somewhat of a uniform anymore.

God, could he really be free? Could he really make his own choices, live his own life? Could he really become someone better than he’d been for years now?

No, that last part wasn’t possible. He was already so far gone. A lost cause. A waste of space.

He shoved open the door to his room, wrenching the top of the whiskey off a little violently and taking a long swig. Drinking was allowed amongst the Gunners, but only when off duty and even then, people weren’t allowed to get too intoxicated.

Tonight was going to be his first night getting destroyed in two years.

With that decided, he removed Charmer’s scarf entirely, shrugged off his jacket, and kicked his muddy boots off.

“That’s enough MacCready,” he muttered, drinking down more of the sickly sweet alcohol that burned all the way down his throat. “Stop talking back, MacCready.”

He could hear all the voices of his superiors. Winlock, Barnes, Captain Wes. Fuck, he hated all of them so much, hated them for treating him like their trained dog. Because of them he’d had to flee with Lucy, couldn’t have prepared himself, maybe hired a caravan to escort them to the Capital Wasteland. Instead they’d slipped out in the middle of the night, nothing but a pistol each, his sniper rifle and the pouch full of caps he now had in his pocket.

Of course, it had been MacCready’s choice to join the Gunner’s. Yeah, he might have only been seventeen, might not have realized how bad the organization of bastards really were, but it had still been his choice.

_If it’ll earn me caps, then sure._

“Use your head, MacCready,” he spat.

_You come with us now, all is forgiven. We won’t kill you for your attempt at desertion. Or... you can say no and join your little wife in hell._

He turned, dropping to the ground and leaned against the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him. His gaze fell to the bottle in his right hand. Already half empty. His head fell back and he examined the ceiling, following the web of cracks. Maybe it was because he was depressed or because he was drunk or a mix of the two, but he couldn’t help but relate to the damaged foundation.

Because he too was very, very broken.

******

_Knock, knock, knock!_

A startled grunt left MacCready’s dry mouth and his whole body jolted in shock. He was lying in an awkward position on the ground, the bed still at his back. Damn, his drunk self hadn’t thought to crawl onto the mattress? He couldn’t have spent his first night away from the Gunners on a goddamn bed?

Oh well, at least he’d gotten good and drunk.

He noticed the bottle standing a foot away from him. About three quarters gone. His stomach turned and he heaved, covering his mouth with his hand. He’d built up quite a tolerance over the years but taking a two year break didn’t do anything to help.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

“Ma-” she caught herself. “Uh, my friend? You up?”

He opened his mouth to reply but just sort of groaned. He sat up, head spinning, light that streaked in through the cloudy window creating a throbbing sensation behind his eyes. There was a few quiet clicking noises and he watched as the doorknob wiggled. A couple seconds later the door flew open, revealing Charmer, whose free hand was over her eye. In her right hand was a bobby pin. “I’m sorry, are you okay? And dressed?”

He might have thought her behavior was kind of funny if he weren’t hungover and embittered by life’s many cruelties.

“I’m dressed… you don’t have to cover your eyes,” he said.

She peaked through her fingers, grimacing slightly. Once she was sure he was decent, she sighed, letting her hand fall away.

“Oh, good. Sorry for barging in but I was worried you died.”

He raised an eyebrow, gazing at her through tired eyes. He was certain he looked like shit, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot.

“How would I have died?”

She shrugged, pulling off her backpack and retrieving a tin from inside.

“You never know out here. Starvation, dehydration, exhaustion, hypothermia, infection, minor illnesses,” she prattled, opening the tin and dropping the bobby pin inside amongst countless more. She looked up at him as if she were coming out of a trance, giving him an embarrassed smile. “Point is, you just never know out here.”

She wasn’t wrong, people living passed their twenties and thirties was a rarity. Best chance of growing old was to live somewhere like Diamond City or Rivet City. Even then, you get sick and you might be just as screwed as someone who spent their whole lives traversing the Wastes.

Still, most people weren’t fixated on this fact like she seemed to be.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“So, are you ready to get out of here?”

His head ached in response. Before he could answer she tossed him a metal canister. He caught it, staring up at her questioningly. “Water. For your hangover.”

He swallowed a large gulp, ignoring a twinge of nausea.

“Where’re we going?” he asked.

She smiled. Jesus, she was gorgeous. Her red hair was mostly pulled back into a ponytail besides her swooping bangs, and seemed even shinier today, as if maybe she’d taken to time to get herself cleaned up since he’d last seen her. She was sort of intimidating, honestly. MacCready got to his feet and felt a little better when he remembered that she was much shorter than him.

“A safe place. It’s called Sanctuary.”

His eyebrows shot up. He’d heard of the place. Apparently quite a few minutemen lived there, a phrase that hadn’t been possible to say a mere three months ago since the minutemen barely existed at that point. Thanks to the Gunners. Winlock and Barnes had been tempted to hit Sanctuary, take it over, but ultimately decided against it. He wasn’t sure why. Apparently their new general was more capable than the last.

“Isn’t that up by Concord? That’s half a day's journey.”

“It’s only about seven if we’re lucky not to run into anything.”

He scoffed, dropping onto the bed and pulling his boots back on.

“And how often does that happen?”

She shrugged.

“Not often,” she said. “It’ll be worth it, alright? Comfy beds, good food, plentiful water.”

“Is that why you wanna go? Cause it’s nice?” he asked.

So far he didn’t know much about her. He had a small mental list and he was hoping to add more details to it. As of right now the list was:  
_1\. Railroad Agent_  
 _2\. Bad with guns (vaultie?)_  
 _3\. Sexy_  
 _4\. Last name Flynn_  
 _5\. Idiot (willing to die for synths/strangers)_

That wasn’t nearly enough information to satisfy him, make him feel safe travelling with her. Not that he felt like she could hurt him, he just didn’t want her to end up stabbing him in the back and him having to kill her in return. Then again, she seemed like too much of a do-gooder to turn on him.

“Well, also cause I wanna restock on ammo, store some stuff I’ve picked up in the last couple days. Gotta check in on some people too,” she said.

He picked up his jacket, pulling it on, his biceps aching slightly. Must have been from pulling her over the railing yesterday. “Why? Is there somewhere you need to go?”

The question was sincere, as if she cared about his wants, his needs too, since she’d given him water. He frowned at her and silently shook his head. Her kindness couldn’t be real. She must have had a hidden agenda, an ulterior motive. No one in the Commonwealth -in the Wasteland- was this nice. Okay, maybe some of the folks in the cities, but still. No one who wandered around like she did. Plus, her codename was Charmer. He knew what that really meant.

Manipulator. Liar. Seductress.

The last word made his head hurt so he pretended not to have thought it. Last thing he needed was to have a crush on this weird woman. It would only make him more pliable. He pulled on his scarf, wrapping it around his face like he had the day before and then shoved his hair down over his forehead.

“Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“Hold on, I got you an additional piece to your disguise,” she said, a bit giddy.

She pulled a second pair of glasses from her pocket, almost identical to the pair she wore, the frames just slightly rounder. She extended them towards him and after a moment of reluctant hesitation, he took them from her and put them on.

“Look, if these are going to make my vision-”

He quickly discovered that the glasses didn’t improve or hamper his sight at all. All they did was add a gold wire frame to his peripheral vision. “Nevermind.”

She grinned.

“A friend of mine gave them to me. Disguises are kind of his thing.”

“Railroad friend?” he asked.

She nodded, a look of comraderie on her face, as if it were very special that he was in on her secret. Well, that made sense. People may have known about the Railroad but no one knew who was apart of it. There were areas that were suspected to be sort of safe houses, but that was about it. She may not have said it, but him knowing who she was was dangerous. One wrong move and he could have the BOS coming after her along with the meaner citizens of the Commonwealth.

But what balanced the scales between them was that she knew who he was. And she could do whatever she wanted with that information if he were to piss her off.

He added that to his list.

_6\. Dangerous (knows too much)_

After grabbing something to eat from the Third Rail and having her shove his leather coat from Lucy into her backpack, they headed out into the Wasteland. They travelled mostly in silence apart from when they came under fire from some raiders close to Diamond City. Charmer made note of needing to visit the city at some point but not today. She also mentioned Piper Wright, the notoriously nosy and overly righteous reporter that lived in Diamond City. MacCready had never met Piper but she had a reputation. He couldn’t say he was surprised Charmer knew her; They were both do-gooders.

When they passed through Concord, whose roads were littered with decomposing raider bodies and also one deathclaw carcass, Charmer pulled back the baggy sleeve of her jacket, revealing a pipboy. That answered his lingering question. She was a vaultie for sure.

_2. ~~Bad with guns. (Vaultie)~~ Vaultie_

He thought he’d heard Winlock and Barnes mention Sanctuary being near a vault. Maybe that was where she was from?

“Five o’clock. Do you know what that means?” Charmer asked, eyeing him, smirking.

“What?”

“It took us seven hours to get here.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Congratulations.”

She laughed, still looking up at him, and then bumped him lightly with her hip. The action shocked him. It was so friendly, so relaxed. As if he weren’t a recently ex-gunner. As if he weren’t an incredibly bad person. It made a pit form in his stomach and his head snapped to the side to look at her. “Quit it,” he grumbled.

This only made her laugh again but she held her hands up innocently. As she spoke, she removed her glasses, tucking them away.

“Alright, alright. No teasing in any way, shape or form. Noted,” she said.

He looked away, frowning deeply. Why was she so nice?

They approached a broken wooden bridge, a statue to their right. On the other side of the bridge was a small barricade, a man standing readily behind it.

“General? Is that you?” he called.

Charmer grinned, raising her hand high and waving.

“Hey, Preston!”

_Holy fucking shit._

MacCready looked between the two of them, his eyes wide. Too much was happening. One second ago she’d been a Railroad agent and the guy across the bridge had been a random Minuteman. Now suddenly she was the _General_ of the Minutemen and he was _Preston Garvey_.

Preston had been at Quincey. He’d been there when the Gunners had slaughtered the Minutemen. MacCready hadn’t been there for the initial attack but he’d been stationed there for a month or two directly after. He’d heard the other guys talk about the last Minuteman, Preston Garvey, who couldn’t do a damn thing to save his fellow soldiers, his general.

Guilt, pity, and a disdain ran through MacCready simultaneously.

“General?” MacCready hissed as they proceeded across the bridge.

_7\. General of the Minutemen_

“Yep,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “General or General Flynn work here. No Charmer.”

He was too perplexed to give her a hard time about all her identities.

“Glad to see you back safe,” Preston said, getting down from his barricade. He saluted her, and she returned it, though she didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the action.

“How have things been? Any problems?”

“Not one. In fact, some of the men are getting a little bored. But that’s good for them, I think. As long as they’re on their toes.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Well, I’m gonna go get some dinner. Your shift almost over?”

He shook his head, smiling. He seemed to really like her. Look up to her, even.

“No, ma’am. One more hour.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

They said goodbye to each other and proceeded into the suburban settlement. He could already see a couple people grouped up, sitting around a firepit. They were laughing, none of them appearing on edge in the slightest. The two of them climbed the slight incline of the road, steering around a curve. This seemed to be the main hub of the settlement judging by the increase in activity.

A few kids were playing, their were a couple makeshift vendor stands, and the one of the houses had an entire wall removed, a cafeteria of sorts inside where people sat and ate. In total he thought he’d counted twenty people, not including the Minutemen that were scattered around the perimeter.

“Pretty nice, right?” Charmed said, drawing his attention back to her big, green eyes.

“Yeah. And you did all this?” he asked.

She waved a hand dismissively.

“Some. Preston helped a lot. It really became a settlement once we started rebuilding the Minutemen. Before that it was just me, him, a few survivors from Quincey, and a Vault tec employee. We were pretty separate for the first couple months. But now, we’re functional. We’ve got farmers, and clean water, and guards.” She blinked, her dreamy gaze leaving the people in front of her and returning to him. “So feel free to go get something to eat. It costs money since you don’t live here, but it’s cheap.”

“If you live here you eat for free?”

“Not exactly. Everyone here has a job unless their too old, too young, or too sick. And if you’re any of those three things you eat for free. Anyway, I’ll be in here if you need me,” she said. “Relax, take care of yourself. Drink more water.”

She veered to the left, entering the house across from the mess hall, shutting the door behind her. From inside he heard barking and for a moment he went on alert until he heard Charmer’s muffled cries of excitement.

8\. Has a dog

There was one more thing to add to his list but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not until he saw proof that this wasn’t all a ruse. No one was this pure. Except Lucy. And Duncan. The last person he met who did this much good was also extremely violent and obviously troubled, though he was still considered a hero by most. They’d called him the Lone Wanderer. That was until he’d disappeared before MacCready had even aged out of Little Lamplight.

Following her suggestion, he went and had something to eat for five caps. It was surprisingly good and served to him by an elderly ghoul who called him ‘dearie’. That had caught him off guard. Yes, he’d met friendly people before, but not so many all at once. Guess that was the magic of a well taken care of settlement.

Charmer never emerged from her home and at night he was directed to a kind of barracks where guests or non-homeowners could sleep. She hadn’t lied, the bed was one of the most comfortable things he’d ever slept on. That night might have been the best night of sleep he’d had in… he didn’t know how long.

In the morning he was awoken by Preston Garvey gently shaking his shoulder.

“Uh, sorry to wake you, but-” the man stopped mid sentence as MacCready looked up at him through bleary eyes. Preston wasn’t making eye contact with him. His gaze was set on his forehead. Panic shocked him into being full consciousness and he quickly sat up, fixing his hair. When Preston continued, all the nerves and muted hospitality had left his voice. “General wants to see you. Now. She’s in the mess hall.”

“Sure. Got it.”

Before MacCready could get to his feet, Preston was gone, leaving him alone with the few sleeping settlers. Shit, shit, shit, this was not good. Preston was going to tell the whole goddamn neighborhood what he was and then he’d be in the same position he was trying to avoid in Goodneighbor.

He stood, pulling on his brown leather coat -Preston had given it to him when he’d showed him to the barracks- and wrapped the scarf around his neck and face. He fumbled with the glasses, heading for the front door of the house. It was only a couple doors down from the mess hall so his journey was short. He could already see Preston speaking to Charmer and thank god it appeared that he was whispering.

The red head said something back, her expression stern but not cruel. MacCready got in line to get food, watching the interaction from the corner of his eye. Preston said something through his teeth and Charmer sighed, looking up at him through her dark lashes. Jesus Christ, if her expression weren’t so sad he might have thought she was flirting with him. Preston clenched his jaw, silent… and then he straightened, striding out of the building and out of sight.

_Crisis averted? Really?_

“Here you go, dearie.”

The voice of the elderly ghoul drew his attention to the bowl of what appeared to be a mix of mashed tato, sliced carrot, and some kind of meat. Maybe radstag? Whatever it was, it smelled good. He paid her and wove through the small crowd of people eating breakfast, sitting at the empty space on her right.

“Good morning, Not-So-Sneaky-Guy,” she said, taking a bite of food.

He moved the scarf down, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth.

“I was _asleep_ , I can’t keep track of my forehead while I’m asleep, okay?” he grumbled out of the side of his mouth.

She nodded, chewing.

“Fair point. It’s my fault. I should have had you sleep with me.”

He almost choked on his food. He glanced down at her and she scrunched her eyes closed, grimacing. “Poor phrasing. I mean, I have a spare bedroom in my house. I should have told you you could use it.”

“Too bad you were locked inside, right?” he muttered.

“Look, I hadn’t been home for a while, I needed- You know what, Ma- Mister? You don’t get to give me a hard time. We hardly know each other.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Whatever. I’ll just sleep there tonight.”

She made a reluctant sound, avoiding eye contact with him.

“I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make it back here tonight in time to sleep,” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow.

“Where are we going?”

She hesitated, biting her lip in a way that was significantly less appealing than it had been two days ago.

“The Glowing Sea.”

“What!?” he cried, drawing the gazes of the people sitting around them.

“My friends are analyzing that present I got when I met you and so I need to go get a treasure map from a friend I have there.”

What in the hell was she trying to say?

“What in the hell are you trying to say?”

She met his stare now, giving him a look that implied he had no brain. It made him kind of self conscious. Not wanting to force her to explain something that apparently should have been obvious, he pondered her words for a moment.

The Railroad was analyzing the Courser chip… so she needed to go to the Glowing Sea to get a treasure map. He knew he had to be half right. “I understand enough of what you said.”

She smiled, pleased with herself.

“Good.”

“But I’m not going,” he said.

She made an indignant whining sound.

“My friend, I saved you so you would help me,” she said quietly.

They really needed to come up with a name she could call him in public.

“Really? Cause I think you did it because you thought it was the compassionate thing to do.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Y-you don’t- don’t- you don’t- It’s been two days, don’t pretend you understand the inner workings of my mind!” she stammered.

“Maybe you should work on not being so easy to read, agent.”

That seemed to make her really mad. She opened her mouth as if she were going to scold him but then she abruptly shut it, looking forward. Slowly, she released air through her nose, closing her eyes and brushing her long red hair back. He couldn’t help but notice how good it looked loose. It hung just passed her breasts, emphasizing their size-

Shut up, brain, just shut up.

“If you want to strike out on your own now, that’s fine with me. I meant it when I told you you could be free. I have other people I can turn to for help, I just thought two hundred caps might buy me more than two days of travel,” she said, tone nonchalant.

That was a good point. He’d almost forgotten that she’d paid him. But he had to keep his goal in mind. He needed money so he could hire someone to help him get Duncan’s cure and then still have enough caps left over to start a new life in the Capital Wasteland.

“The Glowing Sea isn’t a normal job though, is it?”

“It’s unique…”

“It’s dangerous. Radiation and all the nasties out there. I’d be really putting my life on the line if I went with you,” he said. Her eyes narrowed, emerald slits in a dark frame of lashes. “But I think another hundred caps might be enough to convince me.”

She was silent. He thought maybe he’d pushed her too far. But then she opened her backpack that was sitting under the table by her feet. She retrieved a bag of caps, not bothering to count it, and dropped it next to his half empty bowl.

“How about one fifty?”

He almost smiled, snatching up the pouch, saying a quick, “Yeah, one fifty works.”

She stood, snatching up her bowl. She was annoyed with him. MacCready might have been quick to anger, rude, and just generally hard to work with, but her irritation caught him off guard regardless. Maybe she had a short temper too.

“There’s a set of power armor in my car port that you can use. We’re leaving in an hour. If you want to get cleaned up, there’s a sort of bathhouse thing two houses down.”

With that said she whirled around, red hair swaying like a thick, waving curtain down her back, and strode out of the room, dumping her bowl in a plastic tub. He swallowed a mouthful of food, on edge. He needed to be more careful. She clearly had a lot of friends and a reputation for doing good. If he were to get on her wrong side and they ended up blabbing each other’s secret identities, he would be more likely to pay the price than she would. People would probably just think he was lying.

He stood, put his bowl in the same tub and headed for the bathhouse.

Wouldn’t want to be dirty for the Glowing Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the wait! I think I'm gonna update every two weeks just cause I have a lot of stuff going on! Thank you for your patience and warm reception to the story!

**Author's Note:**

> *Destroys stupid hat immediately*


End file.
